Nightmare
by Ms Sherlock Holmes
Summary: Holmes isn't one to have nightmares but when a particular one comes to haunt him, Watson is readily by his side to help him through it. HolmesxWatson fluff. I advise against reading this if you don't like this pairing.


"Holmes! Holmes!"

I knew that voice; I knew it all too well. But how could he be calling me? I could see him lying dead near the foot of the Reichenbach Falls, blood pooling beneath him from a gun wound he had acquired. Tears were pouring down my face with wild abandon. How could I be crying? I had locked away my heart for so long that I was certain I had lost the ability to weep. But the sight of him on the ground unmoving hundreds of feet below me brought on a type of pain that shook me to the very core.

"Holmes, wake up!"

Wake up? How I wished this was a dream! Could something, _anything_, indicate that this was all just a nightmare that would vanish the moment I opened my eyes?

"Ssh, it's all right. Just open your eyes and everything will be fine, my dear Holmes."

Tender arms embraced me. The image of Reichenbach faded away and I returned to consciousness. I was in my bedroom and Watson was sitting next to me, cradling me in his arms. I realized with a mixture of horror and humiliation that my face was wet, meaning that the tears in my dream had become a reality as I slept. Watson caught me in a moment of weakness, and I was more embarrassed that I had ever been.

"How bad was it?" Watson asked soothingly. "Your nightmare, I mean."

I remained silent. I had considered playing innocent but Watson was no fool; the evidence was there. All I wanted was to be alone, but I was too drained to pull myself away from him. I let him hold me as I sulked.

"Come now, Holmes," Watson said. "This dream obviously had an effect on you: you were crying in your sleep! I was able to hear you while I was sitting by the fireplace."

I glared at him, not bothering to ask why he was in the sitting room at this hour, and, looking rather resigned, Watson brushed the remainder of my tears away and he stroked my hair. I shifted slightly against him, feeling both uncomfortable and mollified all at once. I was very unused to being wrapped in someone's arms, and I reluctantly admitted to myself later on that I would not have lived to my oath of honesty if I had said I did not enjoy the sensation (to a certain extent, that is).

Watson suddenly leaned forward and his lips were so close to my ear I felt his breath tickle me.

"Tell me," Watson whispered in a gentle tone. "Tell me everything."

I suppressed a shiver. "Reichenbach," I breathed, resting a hand on his arm.

My friend appeared to understand. "You revisited the scene of your near death," he said. "Only this time, you _did_ die."

"No. _You_ did," I confessed, unwillingly.

Watson looked more surprised than I had ever seen him. I set my eyes downcast in fear they might water again. How humiliating it was to be the weaker of the two. I was supposed to be strong while Watson wore his heart on his sleeve. This role reversal displeased me greatly, but I soon found myself opening my heart further to him.

"After I had shaken off Moriarty, I found Moran poised with a gun a few feet over my head. Before I had a chance to react he fired his weapon and ran off. I turned around, and I found you lying on the ground, the life literally bleeding out of you. I tried to climb down as fast as I could but before I was even half-way down you took your last breath. It was the worst moment of my life, even if it never happened," I said.

"Oh, Holmes," Watson said kindly, leaving a light kiss on my brow. "I'm right here."

A strange feeling erupted in my stomach and I pressed a hand to it. My friend noticed my action and he raised an eyebrow.

"Is there something wrong with your stomach?" he asked.

"I… do not know," I replied uncertainly. "I feel an odd, fluttering sensation."

Watson suddenly smiled knowingly. I eyed him warily in return.

"Do you feel it when I do this?" Watson said. He kissed my brow again and I nodded. "Or this?" He planted a kiss on my cheek and I nodded. "Or this?" He brushed his lips against my neck and I nodded a third time.

"How about when I do _this_?" Watson claimed my lips with his and it took everything in my power to not moan against his mouth.

"_Especially_ when you _that_," I told him breathlessly, as he pulled away. "Watson, what is this feeling?"

"My dear Holmes, you have butterflies in your stomach," Watson replied, chuckling softly.

My expression must had made quite a picture, for he hastily added, "It's just a figure of speech, a term to describe, as you said, the 'fluttering sensation' we feel when we are nervous or in love."

"In love…" I said thoughtfully. "I have never imagined that that term would one day apply to me."

Watson was staring at me in amazement, and I belatedly realized that I had indirectly told him that I loved him. I had previously never uttered those words, for it was not in my nature to be sentimental even though I had been in a relationship with the man before me for the past two years. Watson said that he loved me, and the sincerity in the way he said those words moved me greatly, even if I did not show it. Even though he accepted that I never voiced my feelings, I could still perceive that my friend desired to hear that small phrase from my lips.

I pulled myself away from him and took a sitting position. Watson was still watching me with an owlish look on his face. I was beginning to feel anxious.

"Watson?" I said tentatively. "Are you all right?"

He responded by kissing me deeply. Apparently, I had done something right.

"I feel fantastic," Watson replied warmly, nuzzling into my neck, "now that I know how you feel."

"You had doubts?"

"There were times. I occasionally wondered if our relationship was nothing more than an experiment to you."

"Watson, that's very offensive."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Why must you always apologize for what you are not responsible? _I'm_ the one who should be apologizing."

"Holmes, you are reserved by nature; it's who you are. I should have known better than to think you would use me like that. You may be a man with few friends but you greatly value those you have."

"Well, I should think we are more than friends at this point."

"That is true."

"That dream helped, you know," I said after a brief pause.

"With what?" Watson asked curiously.

"With realizing how I felt about you. Seeing you die unhinged something in me; no one has been capable to make me shed tears since I have been a small child. The idea of losing you is tortuous, more painful than anything I have ever experienced."

"Wait. This is a _reoccurring_ dream? Because, knowing you, this epiphany did not come to you overnight."

I nodded. Watson appeared saddened.

"Do not worry, old boy. I am not going anywhere," said he.

"Good," I replied quietly. I suddenly felt very tired.

"How about I show exactly how present I am?" Watson suggested mischievously, placing a hand on my inner thigh.

"I understand your intentions, but can you please restrain yourself until morning? I am quite drained," I told him, tracing a line on his cheek.

"Yes, of course," Watson replied, watching me sink back into my pillows and rest on my side.

I was about to close my eyes when I felt the mattress sink and a pair of arms snaked their way around my torso. I did not turn around.

"Staying, my dear Watson?" said I in amusement.

"Naturally," Watson replied, snuggling deeper into me.

I rolled over and pressed my lips against his in a chaste manner. He smiled at me.

"Goodnight, Holmes," Watson said, closing his eyes.

"Goodnight, Watson," I said. _I love you_, I thought as I let sleep put its claim on me.

_**The end**_


End file.
